


Stray Bullets

by regsregis



Series: Breaking your habits [6]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Blowjobs, Eye Trauma, Force-Feeding, Gore, M/M, Medical Torture, Mouth trauma, Mutilation, Torture, flaying, skin pulling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-03 04:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regsregis/pseuds/regsregis
Summary: a little snippet from this au, Jack tortures some random guy, things turn heated by the end of this fill.





	1. Chapter 1

“Jack? Is this… really necessary?” Rhys clicks the pen he has been playing with, setting it down with a sigh. 5 minutes ago, Jack has waltzed into his office with some unfortunate soul dragged by the scruff of their neck, all the while quite loudly proclaiming that the three of them are going to have ‘sooo much fun together’. Rhys isn’t all that sold on the idea, and neither seems the guy dressed in Atlas’ colours, his ID tag indicating that he worked in the IT department. He looks somewhat lost, dead scared of the man currently pacing around him and shooting pleading glances towards the other co-CEO.

“Well cupcake, this little shit stain had his dirty little grubby fingers in more pies than he could handle. Like selling info to Dahl for example, remember how they so easily tracked your car and set up a trap? Well you have this gentleman to thank for that.” Jack keeps listing the long going list of sins the man has apparently committed, a swift kick to the back of his legs sending him to his knees and easily stopping the panicked attempt at an escape. “Unauthorised drug trade slipped just under our noses,” the company-issued orange tie is snatched from the man’s neck, Jack quickly using it to tie his hands behind the back. “Some good ole’ company backstabbing,” Without asking for permission, Jack leaves the kneeling man alone and quickly rummages through the content of Rhys’ desk, picking up a few items, seemingly at random, and lays them out. “And my personal favourite, sending fucking dick pics to my secretary.” 

“Really?” Rhys isn’t exactly questioning the last offence, but rather, having Jack go about whatever he has in mind in -his- office of all places.

“Yeah, really, damn what an uncultured swine, right!? Meg showed me some of them, hella gross junk he’s packing down there.” For someone who can’t even bother to remember his secretary’s name, it’s Jim by the way, Rhys knows because he has handpicked the guy himself, Jack seems oddly protective of their honour. Or he’s just offended that the quality of the content wasn’t up to his standards, who knows.

“Anyway, Rhysie-pie thought you might gonna enjoy watching, given he’s part of the reason that whole Dahl slash Lilith thing happened. Kinda early birthday present for you!”

Rhys, for his part, is just mostly glad that the other man has found a way to work out some of his usual extra energy, more importantly, a way that did not include Rhys doing shit, so he pads towards the coffee maker to brew a fresh cup for himself. He’s not particularly happy about the situation, but knowing Jack, he won’t be shooed away this easily so all that’s left is to find a comfortable spot to sit down, pretend he’s enjoying this weird ‘gift’ and alert the cleaning crew they will be needed soon.

“For the record, my birthday was last week.” 

“See what you did!?” A clearly vexed foot is tapped at the kneeling man, as if it was his fault Jack forgot. 

“I’m not telling you anything! Fucking monsters, you two will bring Pandora to its doom!”

That has both of them unitedly rolling their eyes.

“If I was paid for every time someone said that…” Rhys could probably set aside enough money for his pension, alas, it’s not like he actually needs to do that.

“You in luck there then cupcake,” Jack quite cheerfully pats the other man on the head before he casually drops the outer layer of his clothing and rolls the sleeves of his shirt up. Looks like things are about to get bloody, “since I’m not really asking any questions just yet.”

For a few moments, Jack is scaling the office with intent gaze, clearly working out a plan, until he settles on whatever has struck his fancy this time. It’s the desk, Rhys’ love and pride, that draws the other’s attention, a wide sweep of his arm sending most data pads and papers to the floor, the coffee mug saved only thanks to the speed Rhys’ cybernetic arm has. He ends up ushered to the side, with the mug, and the items Jack has picked previously dropped onto his lap once he scuttles over on his swivel chair.

“Alright, here’s how it will go,” the traitor gets yanked by his hair and dragged towards the desk before Jack quite roughly tosses the vigorously squirming man on top of it, and pins him down with a hand at his throat, “you are going to be the hapless victim, I, the ruthless torturer will play the first fiddle while Rhysie here, will be my sexy assistant! Everybody got it?” It’s not exactly like the ‘hapless victim’ or the ‘sexy assistant’ have any say in this matter anyway.

“Didn’t know you were into roleplay, Jack.”

“I’m into… oh for christ sake, shut up,” the currently protesting ‘victim’ gets an offhanded slap across the face, “I haven’t started yet, anyway, yeah, I’m into everything and anything that has you as my sexy assistant.” Jack sounds entirely way too cheerful but Rhys supposes, the man is clearly in his element, about to dish out some unnecessary violence and with everyone’s attention on him. 

“Get that stapler ready pumpkin, we are about to begin.” There comes an overdramatic wiggle of Jack’s fingers as he surveys the bound man in a mock-pretend thoughtfulness, a knife he has produced from god knows where, teased along his front before it snags on the man’s belt. That seems to be where Jack wants to start his impromptu torture act, quickly working the belt and fly open and tightly snapping a rubber band around the base of the man’s limp dick. He’s moving fast and with deliberate purpose, snatching the stapler from Rhys’ hands and driving a staple through the stretch of the man’s foreskin he has pinched between two fingers. That effectively keeps the skin closed around the tip, beads of blood pooling around entry wounds where the metal digs into the angrily flushed skin.

The victim lets out quite a believable howl of pain, too shook by the suddenness of action to try to free himself before, now, he starts squirming with renewed viciousness. Although Rhys wasn’t intending on getting involved, a finger beckoning him closer has him coming closer and resting both of his hands against the man’s shoulders to keep him still, which results in a proud look Jack shoots his way.

“Now sweetheart, you were so intent on showing this ugly thing left and right…” to emphasise his point, Jack snaps the rubber band wrapped tightly around the reddened flesh, cut off circulation making it swell slightly and the jostling movement prompts a restrained whine. “Why don’t we get -you- more closely acquainted hmm?” 

Rhys has no idea what the other CEO is planning but the bound man he’s keeping pinned down might have an inkling, even more so when the sharp tip of the knife Jack’s using tugs at the staple. It’s easy to see how much he’s trying to restrain himself, the panic only now beginning to fully settle in as the full realization of his situation sinks in along with the blade parting sensitive skin and flesh alike. Jack is working in a see-saw motion, nearly synchronised with the rapidly rising and falling chest as the man chokes back on panicked noises. It doesn’t take much for the sharp edge to cut horizontally through the limp length. Their victim keeps kicking around, trying to escape the torture and pleading sobs are mixed with yells as spurting blood soaks into the expensive wood of the desk, which quickly turns into a dribble, most of the blood held back by the rubber band flooding out with the first cut and the rest is left to lazily ooze. The screams are irksome at best, adding fuel to the slowly beginning to build migraine at the back of Rhys’ skull and a severed head of the thrashing man’s dick suddenly coming into his line of view has him nearly stumbling back. 

That only makes Jack tsk disapprovingly.

“Come on pumpkin, no backing down now. Thought you weren’t easily grossed out.”

“Everyone has their limits.” And clearly Rhys draws his line at, judging by what Jack is trying to do, feeding someone their own genitals. The tortured man puckers his lips and starts tossing his head left and right trying to avoid the bloodied piece of meat pressed to his mouth. 

“Ease up Jack, that can’t be good for one’s health.” Wild eyes shoot up to meet his, a quiet expression of ‘thank you’ written all over the face stricken with trails of anxious tears and droplets of blood. 

“Yeah… you might be right…” for a couple moments, Jack stares thoughtfully at the frazzled piece in his hands. 

“Get rid of that piece of metal, what if this poor guy breaks a tooth on it?” The struggling resumes and Rhys has to lean all the more heavily to keep the man in place, a chuckle coming from Jack spurring their victim to start protesting once again.

After some annoyed prying and a few muttered curses, the staple is torn from the loose skin and when the man goes back to keeping his jaws locked tight, Jack loses whatever patience he had, a sharp blow with the knife’s handle knocking some teeth loose and adding a split lip and bubbles of blood mixed with drool running down the man’s chin to the mess on his face.

“You better open up like a good boy before I leave you with just bare gums to chew on this disgusting piece of filth.” To give his victim some more incentive, Jack slips the tip of the knife between swollen lips, apparently digging into the broken teeth with a grinding sound, his ministrations sending more trembles shaking the man’s thin frame and reverberating up Rhys’ arms. It takes a few more threats for hesitant mouth to finally fall slack, bloodied flesh dangled for a second or two before it’s snatched away again.

“Just so you know,” Jack continues in a sing song tone, “it’s really good for digestion to chew at least a hundred times before you swallow. I’ll be counting champ.” This time he doesn’t wait for the man to open his mouth, fingers pinching the nose as he forces the severed piece between his lips. Rhys keeps his own mouth tightly shut, not daring to remove his gaze but intently trying to stare -through- the scene playing before his eyes rather than directly at it.

Jack keeps counting out loud, getting bored around twenty and announcing that it was definitely less than a hundred when the guy finally swallows, clearly trying to hold back the rising bile. The sounds of chewing mixed with restrained retching make something in Rhys’ stomach churn but he’ll be damned if he let it get to him.

“Nu-huh that just won’t do, we gotta teach you manners, what says my sexy assistant?”

Rhys knows he must be looking a little bit green in the face, swallowing the excess spit that has gathered in his mouth, and just makes a vague gesture for Jack to continue whatever he wants to do, not trusting himself to keep the dinner in.

Despite the wild thrashing and screams for mercy, Jack doesn’t seem to be affected in any way, slicing another piece and if he continues at this pace, there won’t be much left of the now completely useless organ anyway. The screams turn into a litany of names, places and data that apparently is supposed to earn some sympathy or forgiveness and Rhys quietly activates his echo recorder to capture all of that while Jack carries on with the task at hand without missing a beat.

This time the number of chews apparently satisfies the co-CEO and he wipes his hands on the lying man’s front and regards him with a disappointed look.

“That didn’t take long cupcake, I’m kinda let down.” Rhys lets their victim roll onto his side, a series of violent shudders shaking him up as the content of his stomach is emptied over the edge of the desk. He just steps far enough to keep his shoes clean, keeping a tight grip on the back of the collar of the man’s shirt to stop him from tumbling over. “As much as that sucks, we have the foreplay out of the way, so, now for the main course~”

Rhys takes a long sip of his already cold coffee, resigning himself to a longer session Jack seems to have in mind. Here’s hoping that that traitorous little piece of shit will decide to clock out of the living world sooner rather than later so he and Jack can get an early night today.

-II- 

It basically boils down to Rhys being grumpy and nagging him about that expensive desk of his, for Jack to finally relent and call the med team to escort his victim out, patch him up and leave strapped to a metal slab to await more fun.  
More fun comes the next day in an echo of sneakers squeaking against the sterile floors and chased with a click of healed formal shoes, one cheery and one disgruntled voice filling the silence.

“Come on Rhysie, treat it like a date!” 

“I have no idea where your idea of a ‘date’ came from. Do I really need to be here?”

“Of course, maybe you’ll even learn something new.”

“I don’t need a lesson in torturing, that’s what I have August and you for.”

By now Jack is walking backwards so he can keep his scornful gaze on the other man, blindly reaching behind to push the door open with his elbow. 

“I wouldn’t be so quick to turn my nose up on this, you gotta expand your horizons kiddo,” with a disarming smile, he turns around with his arms spread to present the secluded room in the med wing he had had prepared for this very occasion. “See, I, for example, have spent last night watching video tutorials on flaying.” To his left, on a long, narrow table, all the necessary tools are displayed, an arrangement of scalpels, needles and other various medical equipment. 

“ ‘m not sure whether I’m more surprised you didn’t already know how to do that, or that vids like that even exist.” Rhys eyes the man slumped within the restrains keeping him tied to the metal slab, currently positioned horizontally. 

“Pumpkin, that’s what dark echonet is for.” Jack picks up one of the thin scalpels and vaguely waves it into the bound man’s direction, “ am I right?” No confirmation to his statement comes beside a distressed whimper and a violent shiver rattling through the naked body when their attention briefly flickers to their victim but the man says nothing. “You can find all kind of weird shit if you try hard enough.”

Rhys only hums in an absent-minded agreement, already having surrendered himself to witnessing another torture session. Jack can’t really figure out where all that grumpiness is coming from because hey, this is going to be fun . Out of curiosity, he teases the tip of the scalpel along his thumb, inadvertently nicking the skin, a small bead of blood gathering there.

Ouch, that wasn’t planned. It may not have been planned but he knows what he should do about it now, crossing the distance between him and the other co-CEO, thumb meeting resistance of tightly shut lips.

“Oh come ON pumpkin, lick it better.” He only gets a disgusted growl and a shake of a head in response. “Don’t be like that, what if I get an infection?” The pad of his thumb trailing lightly over Rhys’ skin leaves a smudge of deep red, a contrast with the man’s usually pale skin so pretty it makes something in Jack’s chest soften uncomfortably, breath caught in his throat when there is the tiniest of twitches under his touch. “I know for a fact you like sucking on things but you better practice more,” the corner of Rhys’ mouth tilts almost imperceivable but by now Jack knows where to look to catch small details like that, partly amazed by his own keen senses, and partly offended that he has been made to care enough to actually notice shit happening past the tip of his nose. “What if I get bitten by a snake or a venomous stalker? You’ll have to suck the poison rrrright out of my flesh, cupcake.”

Under the steadily increasing pressure, soft lips part and his finger slides in with slick ease. They curl around its width, curious tongue flicking against the pad of his thumb and right there comes the cheeky glint in mismatched eyes, an expression he knows all too well.

“The most venomous thing that will ever bite you is me.” Mumbled and slurred when Jack tries chasing the damp heat, quickly followed with teeth clamping down to illustrate the point Rhys is trying to get across.

Another brush to lap at the superficial wound and Rhys is pulling back with a loud slurp, purposefully prolonging it that little bit more until he settles back with a somewhat disgusted look on his face, and smacks his lips.

“What is it? Not enjoying the taste?”

“I’ve had better, could probably list a hundred other things I like more…” It doesn’t particularly surprise Jack, he has already noticed that the other man has that neat freak streak in him, always pristinely dressed and avoiding getting blood or other less decent fluids on him. It makes him want to ruin Rhys all the more, but that will have to wait for a little longer.

“I hope the rest of good ole’ Jack is on that list though.” Less than modestly, he points to his crotch and waggles his eyebrows. “Especially my dick,” the blank stare he’s receiving only makes him want to clarify his statement.

“Top five Jack, top five.” This little shit, Jack vows to make it to the top three by the end of the day, regardless, he has better things to do right now, a pained whimper coming from the side reminding him of all the fun still waiting to be had. Shifting his attention to the tools displayed on the table, he picks a simple razor and two patches of conductive adhesive material. 

Completely ignoring the cries of protest, Jack makes a quick work of the thicker layer of hair covering the man’s thighs, two cleanly shaven spots, raw skin waiting to have the electrodes attached to it.

“What’s that for?” Rhys paces closer, curiously peeking over his shoulder, his eyes clearly avoiding the sad, mutilated piece hanging between their victim’s legs.

“For when he accidentally faints.” Two clamps lock around the metal nubs, wires leading down to a small device that’s already quietly buzzing with the electricity stored there. “You’ll be in charge of this pumpkin, just give him a little incentive if he starts getting bored and nodding off. That’s more of a your thing, innit? Saw you swinging that stun baton like noone’s business,” tossing the controlling remote to the other co-CEO, Jack rubs his hands, obviously pleased that he came up with a way to make it entertaining for both of them.

“Wouldn’t you customary stick it to the victim’s private parts?” with a quizzical look shot Jack’s way, Rhys keeps turning the remote in his hands, trying to figure out how it worked.

“I can only play with someone’s junk so long before calling it a rela…” the rest of his sentence is swallowed by a loud shriek when Rhys finally locates the right settings.

“Oh?”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me pumpkin, try not to fry the guy just yet, i’m looking forward to a few days of fun.”

Picking the previously abandoned scalpel, Jack goes through the whole ritual of stretching, popping his spine, cracking his knuckles and fixing his hair. Alright, as ready as he’ll ever be. A tourniquet is wrapped just above the man’s elbow and for a few moments he lets the uncertainty hang in the air, mismatched eyes watching the twitching fingers.

“A few days? I’ll bet you a proper date you’ll get overeager and the guy won’t last a day.” He can nearly hear the smirk in the other’s voice, the tip of the blade skirting along the line of his victim’s forearm only teasing and tickling at best as Jack considers his own response. 

“Deal. But if he doesn’t die, you’re going to have another shot at reconsidering your top three.” Rhys hums in agreement, eventually settling down on taking a seat on one of the near spartan in design hospital chairs.

The sobs and screams are like music to Jack’s ear, his scalpel easily sliding to shallowly slice the skin around the cuticles. It’s best to start with the most sensitive parts before too much numbness settles in and he carefully carves U-shaped incisions around the nail bed, arching along the sides of the fingers and cutting through the thinner skin webbed in between the digits. A vague memory of his daughter placing her hand palm down on a piece of paper to trace its outline and match it with his resurfaces somewhere at the back of his mind, making Jack let out a pleased giggle at the comparison with a childlike fascination.

He’s still putting freshly obtained knowledge to practice, sticking to the top part of the man’s arm where the skin is thicker and he’s less likely to nick an artery, the sharp point of the scalpel now skidding along the side of the forearm, up to about half its length where the shackles holding the victim pinned dig into the flesh. That’s far enough, Jack concludes, repeating the slice down the other side before he moves to poke around the initial incisions, blindly trying to feel where the nail ended and flesh started. Sliding along the curve of the harder surface, he slips under the thin line of skin he missed previously, carefully prying it away from the nail and lifting around until the fingernails are only attached at the bottom. That should be enough to not endanger all of his previous work and Jack makes a grab for a pair of pincers to yank one nail after another, exposing tender, reddened skin underneath. Each pull is followed with a cry, the sounds growing in urgency until they melt into a blurred line of choked wails. 

His victim has not yet lost his consciousness despite his head rolling to the side in a haze, and Jack rewards that with a very proud ‘good boy’. Rhys doesn’t seem to share this feeling however, sending a smaller shock through the man’s body and giving Jack a pointed stare down the length of his nose. He rolls his eyes at the other man’s antics and returns to the task at hand, precious drops or red rolling down the skin and dripping to the draining system channeled in the metal. With nothing in his way anymore, Jack carves four lines leading from between the man’s fingers along the inclines between the tendons and up to the final horizontal slash in the middle of the forearm. Five strips of skin that now need to be peeled and he starts with the one at the thumb, picking the edge carefully to uncover the network of veins and arteries crisscrossing bare flesh. Two down and he’s proud of the good work he has done so far, bleeding so far minimal and none of the major connections damaged.

“You wanna have a go pumpkin? Shit’s damn satisfactory.” And Jack is right, it’s like peeling the flaking dead skin from the tip of your nose when the Pandoran sun scorches it a tad bit too hard, except this goes deeper, rawer and ultimately, more fulfilling. Even more so when it’s so smooth, just the right amount of resistance and a wet sound making Jack find his inner calm. 

“I’d rather not…” Rhys coughs into a curled fist and mumbles something about ‘skin pizza’ his gaze fixed rather on the man’s face than the splotch of gradually growing red.

He likes hurting and Rhys prefers watching the sheer horror painted on their victim’s face and Jack supposes that it’s good this way, each taking out what he likes best out of this experience. 

It’s nearly entrancing, the way uncovered muscles and tendons shift and pull with twitches and Jack can’t help but prod some more, sliding his bare fingertips over the smooth slickness. When his touch lifts, the only sounds remaining are harsh breaths and pained whimpers for now and Jack just cannot wait to hear more of those restrained noises.

Picking up a handful of curved stitching needles, he forgoes the thread, instead, choosing to wind the first one through the man’s lower lip, starting in the corner, hooking it through the upper lip and pushing the needlepoint into the gums just above the top row of teeth to secure it in place. His fingers are a bit too thick to work easily, threading the fourth needle making the previous one tear at the flesh and he huffs angrily. It takes more dedication and skill than Jack has, eventually settling on adding two more in the opposite corner before he leans back to admire his handiwork. There’s drool and blood trickling down the man’s chin and Rhys picks this moment to add some fireworks to the show, sending a jolt of electricity arcing through their victim’s body. It seems that they both are curious how much it would take for the skin to completely rip under the assault of muffled cries barely pushing through the partly closed lips, the current amped up every now and then. The body arches and thrashes within the restrains, tears freely rolling down reddened cheeks and Jack decides that’s the next issue he wants to address.

“You’re sick, pumpkin.” There’s pride and joy to his voice and he shoots a bright smile over his shoulder. “But that’s enough for now, I’ve got a better idea. I’ll let you play later.”

“Mhm,” Rhys sounds disappointed but turns the device off without much huffing. 

“You really -are- enjoying this, dontcha?” It’s time for a little switch in perspective, the control panel attached to the slab allowing for the bed to move, now positioned vertically, their victim hanging limply within the restrains.

“Only as long as I don’t get dirtied with blood or other body fluids…”

“And just what’s wrong with that.”

“Unsanitary,” there comes a haughty snivel and Rhys tilts his chin with a slight quirk to his lips. Jack doesn’t even grace that with an eyeroll.

Picking up another handful of stitching and regular needles, he turns his attention back to the whimpering mess of a man. The curved steel easily pierces the thinner skin of the eyelid and the brow to keep the eye wide open, the needle-thin pinprick of the pupil shrunk under the intense artificial light wildly darting left and right. He’s curious if he could work his victim into the state of absolute, mind numbing panic and judging by the looks of it, it won’t take much. One of the sharps slides into the bundle of reddened flesh in the corner of the man’s eye but it doesn’t yield as much of a violent reaction as Jack hoped for so he grabs another one, letting the tip hover right over the iris. 

That is the very moment when Rhys chooses to crank up the strength of the device and send a brutal shock rattling through the man’s body, his head snapping forward and when Jack blinks the surprise away, the needle is deeply lodged into the eye.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Rhysie! You tryna get this guy killed? That’s playing dirty as hell!” Jack is clearly offended, furiously rubbing his dirty hands against the front of his shirt.

The overly pleased snigger sounds way too close to his ear and there are arms wrapping low around his hips, steering clear away from the bloody splotches on his clothes.

“I wouldn’t be where I am if I wasn’t playing dirty.” That smug bastard, Jack wants to smack or kiss the playful lilt out of his voice. Fingertips start roaming over his front, grazing along the hem of his trousers and when he makes a move to reach behind, cybernetic fingers close around his wrist in an unyielding grip. “Keep your nasty hands off until you’ve washed them,” the growl purred into his ear sends a shiver running down his spine, intensified with lips brushing along the side of his neck as his head drops back to rest against Rhys’ shoulder. 

The attention is so deeply pleasing he doesn’t notice touch drifting lower, his legs shifting wider when it skirts over his thigh and mismatched eyes only snap open when there is a sudden jerk at his side. The pistol he usually keeps strapped to his leg is now in Rhys’ hand and it instantly goes off, brain and bone splattered over the slab.

“Oops, I think you now owe me a date…” Anger and arousal churn in the pit of Jack’s stomach, mixing and melding until they are one and the same. He swiftly turns around, fighting against the grip keeping now both of his hands to either side of his body and so Jack chooses to use his bulk to press into the other man, chest to chest and knees bumping as he forces Rhys to walk backwards until his back hits the adjacent wall.

“Spoiled brat.”

“I got bored…” whatever more Rhys had to say, Jack swallows it up with lips slotting with Rhys’, all bites and demanding push of his tongue. A sharp bite to his lower lip is smoothed over with a lick and Jack moans into the hot mouth, craving more intensity and just more, more, more _more_.

“You loved that, didn’t you pumpkin. Taking someone’s life just like that…” his voice is a hoarse whisper, words brushing over Rhys’ lips and as Jack rolls his hips forward, there is that satisfying hardness he finds pressing against his own hard length.

“Not nearly as much as seeing what it did to you.” Well, it sure did -things- to Jack, a restrained tremble shaking through his body in desperate need to find some outlet. He grinds harder, flexing his wrist against the clenched fingers because damn it, he needs to thread them through those perfectly styled hair and mess it up, he needs to grab and tug and leave dirty streaks of red all over. It’s only rewarded with a swap of their positions, one thigh slotted between his so he has something to rub against as more feverish bites and nibbles trail the side of his neck. With one last pointed squeeze the grip relaxes and his hands instantly shoot up only to be caught again and he’s bodily slammed against the wall once more.

“Don’t…” Rhys sounds breathless, is, breathless, puffs of air bursting against the damp spots on Jack’s skin. “Stay put if you don’t want me to leave this instant.”

No, no he doesn’t want Rhys to leave, a growl of protest slipping his lips and for now, he settles on letting his arms fall limply to the side, just waiting for a better opportunity because Jack’s many things, desperate one of those, hella fucking turned on right now another, but he ain’t a quitter.

When Rhys slides to his knees to deftly work the buttons of his trousers open, he itches to tangle his fingers into his hair and get some purchase, maybe to keep the other man in place so he could fuck into his mouth at his own frantic pace or maybe to just aid the annoying process of having his pants removed. It doesn’t matter and his nails scratch against the wall in frustration.

The material ends up tangled about halfway down his thighs and Rhys is getting to work in earnest, swallowing Jack in one go, cheeks hollowed when he gives a strong suck without any prelude. He’s hot and slick and wonderfully messy, head bobbing and Jack’s fists thud when he slams them into the wall, knees nearly buckling underneath him. Rhys doesn’t play around, doesn’t tease as much as he usually does, tongue deftly rubbing along the underside of the dick in his mouth, swirling around the head whenever he pulls back far enough. There is the faintest scrape of teeth, a warning never acted upon, and when he sinks all the way to the base, tight throat constricting around the hard flesh and tongue lolling out to brush along the delicate skin leading down to his balls, Jack actually thumps his head, against the wall. 

“Fucking hell, kitten.” Rhys doesn’t pull back instantly, eagerly working through his own gag reflex and a soft noise rising in his throat vibrates all the way up Jack’s dick and shoots up his spine. He sucks and slurps, perfectly wet and tight and so damn soft, staring up to meet Jack’s heated gaze, a dusting of blush across the bridge of his nose making him look younger but also, all the more debauched. The combination of Rhys putting a bullet through someone’s head in cold blood and then oh so hungrily dropping to his knees just to -please- Jack swims in a hazy mix in his brain as a tight ring of puckered lips now pulled over the front row of teeth works up and down his straining length, just enough pressure to border on too much. 

When there is a little bit of space created between, Rhys running his tongue over bitten, swollen flesh of his lips, Jack swears that’s the prettiest shade of red he has ever seen, better than the blood stains marring his own skin. The other man sends a cheeky grin his way before trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of his dick, then back up again, leaving the already damp skin dripping with extra spit, only to lap at the clear drop gathered at the tip and smacks his lips in appreciation. Has Jack made it to the top three? Perhaps. Tension begins wounding tighter in his guts as he watches Rhys virtually eat him up with greed usually reserved for more innocent things. It’s tinged with that barely contained near reverence that the man tends to keep safely tucked away and hidden from the eyes of most people but Jack can see right through it in moments like this, when Rhys lets his guard down and takes what he wants like a starved man, lulled into false safety by breathy moans and unfocused blue and green eyes. 

Not once does Rhys make a move to add a hand to the mix of offered pleasure, digging his fingers into the meat of Jack’s thighs, undoubtedly hard enough to leave bruises and to be perfectly honest, Jack is more than okay with that, revelling in the tight heat. Rhys sinks down once again, the tip of his nose brushing the curls leading down Jack’s front, and swallows, once, twice, working around the girth in his throat and milking the other man with the repetitive contractions of the shivering muscles. He knows well how to give what Jack likes the most, switching to a shallow rhythm sliding up an inch or two before taking him in all again, just like Jack would usually force him to do with a tight grip on the back of his head. Judging by how eagerly the man sucks him off he doesn’t need to worry about any real ‘forcing’, the wet sounds so stupidly dirty in their origin telling him that the affection is offered completely willingly. His hips jerk, chasing after the retreating tightness, somehow placated when the attention briefly shifts to just the head of his cock, obscene smacks audible between the words of praise tangled with random swears spilling from his half open mouth. And then, right then, it’s just -so-, so right -there-, the tightness returning to draw him in, back into the heated slickness, his dick hitting the roof of Rhys’ mouth before it’s angled to slide deeper and he’s coming hard and sudden and with white hot tension bursting through his body. That’s a resounding ‘yes yes yes’ from him, a few more moments given to ride his orgasm, Rhys patiently waiting and breathing quickly through his nose. 

The other man finally pulls back and stands up, wiping the drool from his face with the back of his hand and he’s flushed and ten kinds of wrecked, the material of his trousers tented, ruffled shirt riding up over one hip to expose a sliver of skin. Jack wants him to be a hundred kinds of wrecked and destroyed, lurching forward the moment he feels his strength returning, one hand pulling his own trouser up as the other fists into the front of Rhys’ shirt. The impromptu blowjob must have gotten to him more than either of them suspected given than there are no grunts about Jack’s hands being dirty or the smears caked with already crusting blood left on the previously pristinely clean shirt. 

He’s walking him backwards again until they bump into the limp corpse. A little blind pawing around has Jack finding the control panel again, buttons mashed randomly until he hits the release switch, metal bindings opening and the body slides onto the floor into a heap of tangled limbs. Another forceful shove has Rhys stumbling back till he regains his footing, now standing on top of the remains of their victim, the height difference even more pronounced. 

With one hand shoved down the front of Rhys’ pants, fingers already wrapped around the hard flesh and giving rough, purposeful strokes, he sneaks the other up Rhys’ neck to finally, finally tangle into his hair, making a quick work of turning it into a mess. The other man needs to bow down slightly for their lips to meet, moans and huffs drank and swallowed with as much eagerness as Rhys has previously shown choking on Jack’s dick. He has him boxed against the cold surface of the slab, blood and torn tissue dripping down and soaking into the back of Rhys’ vest, smeared with every shift of his body as he tries to grind into the fist pumping him.

“Oh what I wouldn’t give to have you strapped to that slab properly…” Jack growls and gets a shaky groan in return, his mouth now trailing lower so he can place stinging bites just above the jumping adam's apple as Rhys swallows audibly. “Would show you how to have real fun, kitten.” 

Fingers dig into Jack’s shoulders when the other man leans in in search of some purchase, shaking under the harsh strokes and the assault of nips lavished over tattooed skin.

“Mmn..nn...” whether that was meant to be a protest or agreement, Jack doesn’t know, doesn’t care, not as long as he can keep on turning Rhys into a panting mess of quivers. He finally has the chance to completely fucking ruin him and he plays as dirty as he only can, reaching for all the spots that he knows can make the other man melt and go cross eyed. Thumbing at the slick slit leaking enough clear fluid to smooth some of the furious strokes, Jack feels arousal stir within him again, or maybe it hasn’t gone out just yet, too soon to have his body responding properly, but warming him from the inside out nonetheless. He only adds to the angry shade of dark red on Rhys’ lips with more bites, tasting himself on the other man’s tongue when he pushes deeper and when he wraps his free hand around the abused throat, Rhys gasps through the tight grip, struggling to draw a breath in. 

It’s more about the pressure and the very idea of having his breathing cut off than any real lightheadedness that sends Rhys over the edge nearly instantly and Jack doesn’t relent his grasp for a longer while, not until he’s sure the last trembles of the orgasm have rattled through Rhys’ body, every muscle pulled taut for a few more precious moments. It’s a power trip in and on itself, relaxing his fingers and watching Rhys relax in return, nearly stumbling forward before he leans back to rest against the slab, shallow, almost panicked breaths making his chest rise and fall quickly. He’s completely ruined, the result of Jack’s rough love, flyaways sticking to his sweaty face, clothes dirty both from the blood as well as Rhys’ own release that has been steered to land on his front, not without a small dose of pettiness, and Jack takes a mental picture of the view before him, entirely all too pleased with himself.

“You are such an asshole, Jack…” Some composure regained, Rhys goes about picking stray pieces of brain and bone from his hair, clearly disgruntled with the less than proper state of his looks. 

“Of course. Doncha worry kitten, I’mma make up for it to you with that promised date. Gonna wine and dine the fuck outta you.” When the other man isn’t looking, he slithers closer and steals a brief peck pressed to the tip of a nose wrinkled in disgust at the gore sticking to the rumpled clothes. 

“The horror the horror, what am I going to do about that.” Despite the grumpiness, Rhys cracks a tiny smile quickly overshadowed by a theatrical roll of his eyes when he discovers a few torn buttons.


	2. Dodging bullets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well i did promise a follow-up, promised date so uhh, we're not exactly there yet but this got out of control and turned super long so i've decided to cut it into two chapters ;^)

Early morning finds Rhys yawning and lazily trying to kick Jack out of the bed. A rather failed attempt and he ends up needing to be the first one to get up, eventually joined by a very disgruntled Jack about halfway through his morning routine. Combat boots laced tight and sturdy clothes to ward off Pandoran weather put on, they both fix their shields in place, weapons ready to be picked at their destination.

There isn’t really time to grab a proper breakfast, extra minutes spent on careful grooming and so they agree to get something on the go from the local coffee shop, two coffees in paper cups and a cereal bar to keep hunger at bay.

Once they finally arrive at the Atlas facility, Commander Yun has already finished briefing their men, now engaged in a heated argument with a petite blonde woman, dressed head to toe in camo uniform, a little bit too baggy for her and making her look even more out of place, all the more with a small drone hovering over her shoulder. Ah, their charge for today, a little perky reporter Rhys has agreed to take along for the ride. As a general rule and despite his vanity, he avoids press as much as he can but, with the new security systems Atlas wants to implement, every little bit of advertisement is a blessing. 

Jack prances off almost immediately, probably to get busy with some secret Handsome Jack  _ stuff _ , leaving Rhys to deal with the reporter on his own. Putting on his most professional face, he steps closer to the two arguing women and clears his throat. That’s enough to have Yun greet him with a curt nod and then march off with the tip of her nose pointing towards the ceiling.

“Ah, sir! Amanda Grey, so glad to be here!” It’s too early for such levels of bubbliness, regardless, he shakes the offered hand, a stiff smile curling his lips and a flicker of a warning that he’s being recorded flashing on his echo-display.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you miss Grey, I know you are quite an avid writer, heard you have been following Atlas’ development for a long time,” slander mostly, incorrect information badly pieced together and false conclusions drawn. How does the saying go exactly…? Keep your friends close and enemies closer. So, he’s going to keep this little menace very close today, the woman absolutely overjoyed to get her hands on exclusive material. 

“That’s right, just as I was saying to your Commander, please pay no mind to my drone, it’ll be recording everything so we can later choose the best shots,” there is a sparkle to her eyes, a somewhat inhuman glow in the brightly lit room and it takes Rhys a few moments to figure out she’s got implants, Maliwan unlike his, if the pattern around the iris is anything to go by. 

He doesn’t like that but it’s too late to call it off so he only makes a vague gesture towards her eyes, “just don’t let me catch you spying on anything you’re not supposed to, remember miss Grey...accidents happen.” A wink and an ‘honest’ smile, that’s the right way to go about it, “anyway, I saw you arguing with Yun, what was that about?”

“Well,” she scoffs and crosses arms over her chest, trying to make her unimpressive height a little bit more ...impressive, “I was led to believe we were scheduled for an interview, not… this.” Ah, so that explains a lot.

“I think you’ll find your current attire more useful in the field than high heels and pencil skirts, and I’d rather show you our new technology in action instead of just boasting about it.”

She’s about to say something undoubtedly rude when a loud ‘ten-hut’ interrupts her, “you better get going miss Grey, you wouldn’t want Yun to catch you slacking off during the warm up.”

With a pleased smirk, Rhys keeps watching the unfortunate reporter sweat during the routine jumping jacks, all the while sipping on his coffee. The only other person excused from the harsh round of exercises, is the other CEO, currently doing his version of ‘handsome yoga’ a ritual he likes to indulge before going on a murder spree. Says it helps him find his inner rage or whatever.

All red-faced and panting, Amanda is left to trudge after Yun, missing Jack making his way towards Rhys with an armful of equipment.

“ ‘kay, strap in pumpkin,” there is his usual pistol of choice passed to him, and Rhys dutifully stuffs it into the holster.

“I’d rather you eased up on the nicknames today, ‘mandy there will have ears everywhere so try to behave yourself.”

Jack doesn’t deign that with a verbal response, simply shrugging before heading off towards the hangar.

 

-II-

 

The hovercraft lifts off, packed to the brim with the team, weapons and a giant pile of currently inactive drones.

“Is that what you wanted me to see?” The reporter seems rather indifferent, hesitantly eyeing the repurposed Atlas bots.

“Yup,” picking up one of them, Rhys makes it come to life with a command from his arm, plates flaring up and making the bot drift above his palm, “these babies will soon be soaring the Pandoran skies, CCT security drones, providing live feed from various angles and on different frequencies, as well as additional cover fire, all in order to make this place a little bit safer. Today we will be testing them on a bandit camp so my people can get used to the tactical advantage in combat they provide.” He’s so damn proud of them, the effects of nearly half a year of work and, to his dismay, something a lot of native Pandorans absolutely loathed. Those will need to be dealt with, after all, had they no secrets, they wouldn’t have really minded the constant surveillance. 

“People fear Atlas will be spying on them, and I can’t exactly disagree with that…”

“There’s nothing to fear,” Jack interjects, popping by to score the reporter through squinted eyes, “Handsome Jack by the way,” as if the man even needed to introduce himself, “we are not interested in who’s fucking who, all Atlas wants is to make sure no one will try to attack our outposts and settlements.” The handshake he offers is most likely borderline crushing judging by the clear discomfort on her face. Or it might be because she’ll need to beep out some of Jack’s constant wordvomit, “now ‘mandy, don’t go around running that mouth of yours like that, we’re doing that to protect people from bandits, psychos and all that lot, your presence here is meant to help us convince some of those who are spewing bullshit like you just did. And if you do not succeed, there are other ways,” she doesn’t seem to be happy about being threatened for the second time today.

“I’ll keep that in mind…”

 

-II-

 

Once they land, a fair distance from the bandit encampment, Yun rounds up her men, the majority of Atlas force made of cyborgs, or, how they like to call themselves, enhanced humans, everybody now hooking up to the local network. Up go the drones, stopping just at the edges of the atmosphere and spread out in a web-like pattern, soon, the technicians staying inside of the hovercraft, give them the green light to proceed with the mission. Rhys, quite proudly, shows the 3D image blooming above his open palm to the reporter, the nearby landscape and blinking dots, red for the unidentified targets, and green for friendlies. 

“Fuck…” the word slips him unintentionally, a single, green dot now right in the middle of the largest cluster of red ones. 

“Fudge!” so it looks like Yun has also noticed that someone’s missing, a very particular someone, and the only other person beside Amanda not able to receive the signal from the drones “get a move people! You don’t want your ‘effin boss stealing all the glory?!” With that, she leads the charge, following in Jack’s footsteps. So, the legend has it, the Commander has used up all of her swear words giving birth to her first daughter, right in the middle of a gunfight and while taking down raging psychos. Rhys is inclined to believe this particular legend. Despite her dislike for cursing, Yun still manages to be scary in her own, quiet way, always appearing as if she knew more secrets than anybody else. For a fact, he knows that she -does-, especially after she has once caught him and Jack getting frisky behind a stack of crates after clearing off some bandits. Ever since, she has never hesitated to use it as a blackmail material to get some extra days off to attend her daughters’ school performances. He still likes her.

 

“Wanna get a closer look?” Amanda doesn’t look like she does but once he breaks into a lazy trott to get closer to the raging battlefield, she follows, her drone buzzing from between the working technicians to chase the duo.

Crouching behind a cover just on the outskirts of the fight, Rhys brings up the holo-image once again, quietly explaining the streaming data.

“Boss?” the voice cuts through straight to his comm, “you’ve got incoming,” flipping through different frequencies, he finds the one reaching the deepest into the bowels of the encampment, the infrared showing a flock of red dots emerging from the half buried building to their right.

“Have Yun send someone my way,” the larger dots indicate badasses and Rhys calmly pulls the safety of his pistol, getting ready for a fight.

“Hey! Don’t I get to have a weapon?!” despite her angry words, the reporter huddles deeper into the safety of their hiding spot.

“No, you don’t even look like someone who could tell the barrel from the handle, no worries kiddo, I’ve got you covered.” He’s not entirely sure if that’s true but then again, having her die here would be...inconvenient at best.

Aiming with his echo-eye, Rhys takes down the first few psychos coming for them at full speed, but then his luck runs out just as his ammo does and he has to take on the first badass head on.

They are big and dumb, weak shields offering protection from projectiles but not physical objects and he manages to dodge a couple of swings the badass takes at him before his cybernetic fingers find an opening in the armour, sliding to the man’s neck. A strong yank, the movement propelled by the extra force hidden in his artificial limb, and he’s knuckles deep in the underside of his enemy’s jaw, metal scraping against the lower row of teeth. Another yank and he’s left with bloody remains of a jaw and a dying badass at his feet. Rhys hopes that it has been caught on camera, flashing a smirk towards the obviously scared reporter. There is a small group of bandits trying to reach them, guns blazing and murderous screams filling the air. He knows a perfect way to deal with them, once again making the holo display materialize over his palm and this time, he orders the drones above them to concentrate a single, lone shot on the group before him, not much unlike Helios’ moonshots except less destructive and more easily accessible. Rhys half turns towards the covering woman and smugly runs a hand through his hair. She, however, isn’t even looking at him. What a shame.

The shield Yun must have given Amanda, starts flickering when two more badasses begin peppering glancing shots at the woman and with a disgruntled sigh, Rhys springs forward towards her. A command issued to his own shields reroute the power to his arm and swirling power takes form of a buckler over his forearm. So yeah, he might have stolen the idea from Athena, but you can’t tell him it didn’t come in handy!

Spotting an opening in the fire, the two dumb badasses reloading at the same time, he gets his stun baton primed and read, a few longer jumps taking him closer to them. He’d rather not get his hands any more dirty but the drones will need a few moments to generate more power. 

The first one goes flying back the moment the sparkling tip tickles along his chest but the second one, somehow manages to make the two, lone brain cells meet briefly, a single smart idea sparkling in his empty brain. The badass makes a grab for Rhys’ stun baton, catching it in his meaty hand in the middle and easily snapping it in half. God damn it, he liked this one!

There is no time to mourn, his enemy crashing into him, completely disregarding his weapon and making them topple over. Rhys thinks he might be done for here, defeated by his own recklessness and a rain of fists aiming for his face he’s trying his hardest to avoid.

Suddenly, the badass on top of him grows twice as heavy, a shape flickering into existence on his back, two hands coming to wrap around the neck and easily snapping it.

It’s not easy to roll the dead bastard off of himself, and it’s even harder to swallow his pride when Jack, currently out of his stealth mode, graces him with a sly smile, one hand offered to help him to his feet.

“No need to thank me pumpkin. No, I’m joking, please do thank me in great details, what would you even do without your knight in a shining armour!”

After that, the fight is over in a few minutes, the remaining psychos rounded up and escorted so Atlas can repurpose them in the eridium mines. Finally breaking the spell fear had over her, Amanda comes closer on shaky legs.

“That...that was intense…”

Rhys is too busy picking dried blood and skin from the joints of his cybernetic hand to really bother with an answer, instead, letting Jack carry the conversation.

“Oh cupcake, you haven’t seen ‘intense’ yet, make sure to tag along with me instead Rhysie here next time, we’ll get into the thick of it, get some first hand experience. I promise to get you a nice boomstick if you come with me!” She doesn’t look particularly thrilled, still a little bit pale.

As he keeps boasting, the man doesn’t let an opportunity to place a stealthy squeeze to Rhys’ ass, making him bite back a surprised yelp. What did he tell him about behaving himself!? However, he’s used to dealing with Jack, and years of his friendship with Vaughn give him a nice idea how to get back at the insufferable man. Straightening up to his full height, Rhys casually leans against Jack, elbow resting atop his head so he can go back to examining his fingernails.

“Yeah, sure, go with him next time, but only if you fancy getting blood and gore all over yourself to the sound of someone cackling maniacally. And don’t count on him to watch your back,” man, but does it feel good to be this tall. 

It only serves to start a rather heated debate between the two of them, Amanda instantly forgotten in favour of getting at one another’s throats until Yun shows up to break up the fight.

 

-II-

 

Back in his office, clean and redressed, Rhys keeps lazily scrolling through today’s reports when the reporter finds him again.

Something about her has changed since morning, her eyes regarding him with some begrudging respect. The best kind of respect a man can get if you were to ask Rhys.

“I believe I now have enough material for the video I have planned, but, would you perhaps consider a private interview? A lot of people are curious about the man behind Atlas…”

“Please, do have a sit miss Grey,” with a careless sweep of his hand, Rhys gestures for the woman to take a seat on a chair on the opposite side of his desk, “I am not a fan of those as you probably know given all of your previous requests have been denied.”

“Then consider this, the tone of my report depends on your yes or no...sir,” that doesn’t exactly sound like a threat, especially since it’s followed with a bat of her eyelashes.

Rhys chews on his lower lip as he considers his options, she’s not crucial to the advancement of his plan that’s for sure, and he could make sure she never leaves his office, or he could confiscate her drone but… part of her contract with Atlas included his full authority regarding what got out and what didn’t so maybe, a little interview wouldn’t hurt. Especially since Rhys absolutely loves talking about himself. Well, call it damage control, he’ll make sure only what is supposed to be seen by the public will get printed.

“Fine, but I don’t want my privacy invaded, if I say something is not to be talked about, you drop that question immediately.” That has her perking up instantly and this time, she shoots him a more genuine smile.

“Alright, well, for starters, please do call me Amanda! So, tell me...Rhys,” did he even get the chance to agree to the first name basis? Of course not and he instantly grows to regret his decision, “a big bad CEO like you, rumour has it you’ve started at Hyperion…”

Later, he grows to regret his decision at least tenfolds, his answers rather short and to the point unless he felt confident talking about this or another subject. Mostly anything that showed him in just the right, noble, kind of light. Rhys thinks that he deserves this for all the shit he had to put up. 

She doesn’t leave any topics untouched, asking about his career, family and eventually, “what about your private life, has anyone stolen the CEO’s heart? I know my readers are really curious about that.”

A moment of hesitation before a clipped ‘yes’ comes but thankfully, he’s spared any more intrusive questions when someone barges into his office. That someone being, of course, Jack, waving something in his hand and excitedly starting to yell the moment the door opens with a hiss.

“There you are pumpkin pie! Look I’ve got something… oh! Mandy! Was wondering where you’ve gone pretty thing!” Trust Jack to immediately steal the spotlight and for once, Rhys is grateful for that. The man grabs the extra chair to drag it closer to the desk, drawing everybody’s attention to himself and effectively, quickly turning the interview into a long winded tale about his heroic accomplishments. He’s quite content to just sit back, ankle crossed over knee, and watch the other man talk the unfortunate reporter to death.

“ _ Hey, psst, pumpkin,”  _ the hologram sparkles to life, leaning just over Rhys’ shoulder to whisper into his ear despite his words being inaudible to everybody else, “ _ check out what I got you!” _ Half transparent finger points to a plain white envelope and a small, box, covered in caked blood, both dropped onto his desk.

Rhys decides to start with the latter, shooting curious glances at the overly-pleased smirk on Jack’s lips. Gingerly picking up the dirty box, he has to squint his eyes when a flash of bright purple illuminates the room. It doesn’t escape Amanda’s notice but the flesh and bone Jack is quick to tug her sleeve and make her focus on him again.

_ “A fucking eridium-tainted moonstone! You know how rare those babies are!?” _ And extremely dangerous, Rhys thinks, little rocks having no value on Pandora if they happened to fall down from Elpis, but this one, laced with thin purple veins, happens to be quite the catch.  _ “Found it in those bandits’ settlement, morons had no idea what to do with it but I’m thinking, you put that into this arm of yours and it should give you a nice boost, right kitten?”  _ Oh he’s right all right, a matching, shit-eating smirk spreading on Rhys’ face.

He settles the closed box down and grabs the second gift, turning the envelope over to find a rather crude drawing on its front. There is something vaguely resembling an island, really small and drifting on the water, and a single palm tree leaning over two, most likely, people sitting in deckchairs. On closer inspection, Rhys starts suspecting the overly buff, squarely drawn figure with a helpful note ‘super handsome’ must be Jack and the grotesque stickman next to it, Rhys himself. That’s enough to pique his curiosity, quickly tearing through the paper only to find two more slips, printed in bright, flashy colours. The text on them has his eyes snapping wide open.

_ “You like that pumpkin? I did promise you a little something a while ago, and Handsome Jack always keeps his promises!” _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, there isn't much happening before some set and settings but oh well, i really wanted to write some action to cure my sudden insomnia ;^)


	3. Dodging bullets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> got long again *sigh* im not exactly happy with the smutty part but given that it take a lion's share of this chapter, i have no strength to fiddle with it anymore

Another alert pops up in the corner of his eye and Rhys does his best to keep his expression neutral, a furrow of his eyebrows and a light shake of his head sent towards the pesky drone trying to scan the paper in his hand. Amanda is seriously testing his patience right now and he’s half inclined to just shoot her little friend down. He doesn’t, just because Jack is still enjoying soaking in all the attention he’s receiving but after a few more minutes, Rhys kicks both of them out of his office.

 

-II-

 

Monday comes and it’s already fairly late, most of the building quiet and bathed in soft, back up light, the majority of people having clocked out a while ago. With a long, tired sigh, Rhys folds his reading glasses and carelessly drops them onto the desk. He’s looking forward to calling it a day and getting some well deserved R&R, preferably with a dumb movie playing in the background so he can doze off on the couch.

The double door to his office slides open with a hiss and he’s almost, almost free when something collides with his chest at full speed, making him stumble and shake his head to clear the sudden blur. The ‘something’ turns out to be a rather large bag shoved into his surprised hands and from around it, Jack’s obnoxiously cheerful face peeks out.

“Ahh, there you are pumpkin!” he can only conclude that with a grunt, the heavy weight resting in his arms nearly toppling him over, “good good, okay let's go, there is no time to waste, we’ve got places to be and things to do!” 

How the man manages to stay so goddamned perky and energetic this late in the evening is beyond Rhys. 

“Are any of those places we gotta be include home?” Not likely given that the prospect of folding in for the night rarely managed to get Jack this excited. 

Without waiting to see if he’s being followed, Jack is already bouncing down the corridor. Regardless, Rhys follows, dragging the heavy bag and dragging his feet, the realization that it won’t be easy to talk Jack out of whatever new idea he’s currently implementing, prompting a sigh out of him.

“Stop with the grumping, I’m doing you a favour here so you better be grateful. Have you forgotten about Respite? Well, we’ve got about half an hour to catch the last off-world shuttle that can take us to the station. The yacht will be hanging around the borderland planets this whole week!” Ah, right, digging through the multiple pockets of his vest, Rhys fishes out the tickets once again, just as Jack has said, they have a stay booked starting today and lasting for the next two days.

“Crap, sorry Jack, I forgot, uhh, can I at least drop by home and get some clothes?”

“No, told ya’ we’ve gotta catch this ride!” Of course, and Rhys seriously considers throwing himself face down on the floor and screaming. Jack always says that it’s a wonderful way to work stress out of one’s system, “besides, I’ve got everything you might need already packed here.” So that’s what’s inside the heavy bag he’s made to lug around. Rhys really doubts Jack’s ability to pack responsibly but there is no getting through to the stubborn man so all that’s left is a dutiful trot after him. 

 

-II-

 

Respite, a gigantic spaceship modelled to resemble a yacht sailing through the emptiness of space and surrounded with the bubble of a shield warding off the freezing chill, it’s glorious and splendid, shimmering with tons of colours against the backdrop of Pandora’s only sun. Rhys would be admiring it right now if not for the fact that he’s stuck with his head between his knees, sucking in deep breaths and trying to keep his nerves in check. Space travel just isn’t for him, unlike for Jack, who’s having the time of his life at Rhys’ expense. He shuts up only when faced with a very real threat of getting puked on, now both of them different shades of green to suit the different reasons. 

“So uh, how on earth did you manage to get the tickets? Last time I checked they were completely sold out and that was even before you came back…” anything to take his mind off of the squeaking panel flapping just next to him. Rhys has a feeling that it won’t last very long and that it’s vital to his survival against the cruel space. 

“Got in touch with some aristocratic prick on Elpis, took some negotiations but he agreed that ultimately, he didn’t need the tickets to continue living a happy life he currently is,” Jack all but beams proudly, clearly pleased with the amounts of self control he must have exhibited for the man to be left alive.

“Somehow I’ve got a feeling that the negotiations were of an aggressive kind.”

“You know me too well kitten, I don’t do any other kinds of negotiations!”

 

-II-

 

They are greeted by fake smiles and scantily clad bodies of the yacht's staff, boughs of exotic flowers draped over their necks and colourful cocktails offered. Rhys likes here already, easily mingling with the representatives of the highest of borderlands’ society. He loathes every single one of them, with their flashy clothes and obnoxious behaviour, choosing to simply stroll amongst the mass, occasionally sparing a haughty expression this way or another. Nothing to lift a man's spirit than the ever present feeling of envy surrounding one, especially coming from an audience such as this. They clearly know who he is, if not by recognizing his face, then by piecing together the logo on his sleeve and the snotty act. It has them surprised, not having expected the head of one of the largest weapon manufacturing giant to show up here on such a short notice. A few brave souls try to strike up a conversation with him but Rhys is quick to shot any such attempts down.

Jack however, disappears somewhere to sulk in peace, absolutely outraged that he has been made to release the assortment of weapons he has brought with himself. Rhys, for his part, is glad that the chief of security kept a level head and promised to take good care of his ‘babies’. At least he doesn’t need to drag the annoyingly heavy bag around and sweat in the presence of all those snobbish assholes.

The place is all luxurious carpets and an artificial, glorious sunset gleaming over the calm ocean and through the wide windows.

He ends up finding a lovely nook overlooking a small, indoor beach where he can chill with yet another teeth-rotting sweet drink and quietly judge everyone passing by his vantage point. 

Unfortunately the ship’s cycle isn’t compatible with Pandora’s, the updated echo-clock telling him that its only midday here, so eventually the tiring day catches up to him, head propped against the nearby wall as he nods off, occasionally woken up by a louder conversation going on nearby. His rest is completely ruined when a perky chirp demands his attention. Cracking one eye open he spots a sight that certainly doesn’t help his sore eyes, the familiar drone snapping pictures of the sleepy drool clinging to his chin in rapid succession.

“Miss Grey… Amanda, surprised to see you here,” he can’t be bothered to keep the snark out of his words, “how uncanny for us to meet again so shortly.”

The reporter graces that with a toothy smile, it’s clear she’s absolutely pleased with herself, apparently having spied the destination of his trip, and he’s left here regretting ever letting her leave his office.

“Isn’t that so!” He does his best attempt at yawning and turning his bored expression back to the crowd, trying to imply how busy he is with his self-appointed ‘watch’. “Not, however, as uncanny as both CEOs taking a few days off  _ together _ . It is not my place to question your judgement but isn’t it a hazard to your company?”

“You’re quite right ‘mandy, it’s not your place. Atlas is ran however I and Handsome Jack see fit.” She’s not taking his subtle cues so once she starts demanding that they continue the interview that was oh so rudely interrupted, Rhys simply drops his head back against the wall and start very loudly and fakely snoring.

 

-II-

 

It's early afternoon according to the yacht's night and day cycle, when the staff gently starts herding the guests for tonight's main event. A quick echo-net search tells Rhys a core world's tier superstar has arrived, a one in a life-time opportunity to watch the famous diva perform. Even though Jack wasn't considerate enough to pack anything that would follow the mandatory dress code for the show, the Respite's staff is apparently used to dealing with forgetful guests, a tailor dropping by earlier at Rhys' requests to take their measurements, so by the time they arrive at their suite, two sets of elegant tuxedos are waiting for them, neatly laid out on the bed. There is no denying the luxury almost dripping from every detail of the ship as well as their quarters but the rich, silky material of their clothes still manages to nearly blow his mind. While Rhys has always been vain, way too much attention put into how he dresses himself, there is only so much you can have shipped to borderland planets. It's not the money that's a problem here, but rather, availability, so, given this opportunity, he's dead set on spoiling himself rotten here.

His suit comes with a patterned orange bowtie he almost instantly took a shine to, paired with a matching, ornate handkerchief to tuck into the breast pocket. 

Talking Jack into buttoning his shirt all the way up properly is a no small feat, but Rhys still manages, not without a few helpful threats to strangle the man with his tie. At the very least he seems to be enjoying the flaps of his tux, quite happily pretending to be a stalker-bat, his antics coupled with species' typical hissing and attempts to suck the blood straight from Rhys' neck. 

That's how they find themselves heading into the giant hall, one with a persistent hickey on the side of his throat, the other with an already forming bruise on his jaw where a wildly flailing limb caught him by a surprise. 

Rhys recognizes some of the snobs around him, a good couple of them coming from Pandora itself, not natives that much is clear, but rather people who moved to the planet in search of profit, all posh pricks in his humble opinion. Regardless, he gives a few polite nods when they try to greet him but ultimately, decides to hide behind Jack's overpowering presence to avoid any small talk. His mood becomes sour when he once again spots the annoying journalist, Amanda now stuck in the far end of the hall, together with the rest of unlucky bastards who couldn't afford a seat, all cramped and having to stand for the next hour or so. At the very least she got what she deserves for all that snooping around she's been doing.

They on the other hand, have got the seats in the second from the front row, right in the middle to enjoy the performance best. Rhys squeezes himself into his seat, way too pleased with the jealous looks he's receiving, and with Jack in tow, elbowing everybody around him to make some space for them.

The lights become dimmed, spotlights now centered on the scene and the audience falls quiet, awaiting the guest of the night, a tall, definitely non-human figure sauntering to the center of the stage.  She, at least that's what her files said, is certainly a beauty, not by everyday standards but there is something alluring to the way she moves and the gentle sway of the tentacles lining her back. Rhys thinks she's got to be really special, non-humans rarely making it big in the mostly human dominated universe, his suspicions confirmed with the way everybody seems to be holding their breaths and how a freakishly dressed woman next to him gasps at the sight before him. 

Soft piano music announces the start of the show, soon joined by a smooth soprano. While she sings in a language even his cybernetics cannot translate, the pamphlet he has received earlier, stated that the whole performance centered around the motif of good and evil, a centuries old fight between the two forces and how the former will always win. That and the over the top movements of the diva have him snorting, as far as Rhys' experience goes, there's no such thing as good and evil, the history written by those who have emerged victorious and if he has anything to say on this matter, he can and will be the bad guy when the situation calls for it, but he sure as hell will make certain the generations to come will remember him as the one who has changed the world for the better. 

Following the script written on the pamphlet, he learns that she's currently droning on about brave warriors defeating a villain, through the power of friendship and devotion. As if the villains couldn't have friends or weren't devoted to their cause too, that's just ludicrous! Rhys certainly can't feel any sympathy for the obnoxious heroes, quietly wishing for their demise.

Striking blue eyes meet his, the diva now seemingly directing her attention at him and him only, perhaps taking his skeptical expression as a challenge. No, he's not denying her skills, what singing experience and innate talent he has, telling him that she's more than apt at her craft, producing notes at a pitch and tempo beyond simple human levels. It's just that it might not be entirely his cup of tea, a tale of how love conquers all - a load of bullshit if you were to ask him - paired with the annoyingly high, drilling noise of her voice, giving him nothing but a headache. 

Rhys loves basking in luxury and splendor but he's far from putting up with things he doesn't enjoy, a cock of his eyebrow shot diva's way, and when he unceremoniously gets up to leave, her voice falters. He couldn't give a shit about it, nor about the murmured comments about 'pandoran savages', shuffling between the sitting people and heading for the exit. If anything, he's a tantalan savage, thank you very much, that's almost a core planet!

Only once he's outside, ignoring the crooked glares the staff sent him, does he lean against the wall and breath a relieved sigh out.

"Not enjoying the performance cupcake?" So it looks like Jack has decided to join him, arms now crossed over his chest and a Cheshire cat's grin on his lips.

"Not a fan of listening to a cat in heat wailing," he shrugs, completely unperturbed by the social suicide he has just committed.

"That's part and parcel of the high-society life kitten, see, that's what I had to put up with my whole life! All those boring corporate parties and snobbish assholes trying to win my favours," that's enough to have Rhys stifling a disbelieving chuckle into his curled fist.

"You're not the type to put up with anything you don't at the very least enjoy in moderation, Jack."

"Ah, I'm wounded, you think I have no social graces?" The hand dramatically placed over Jack's chest doesn't look convincing in the least, nor does the playful glint in his eyes, "okay, okay, you've got me there, I'd rather shoot all of them down, although, watching those idiots grovel at my feet is always fun, but! We're on vacations here so how about we see how high of notes I can wring out of you pumpkin?" 

Rhys doesn't need to be asked twice, not even trying to resist the hand tugging him by his sleeve, both men breaking into a dash, up the wide staircase, through the winding corridors and to their assigned room. It feels like they are two teenagers skipping a school event, giddy and eager.

Jack pushes and Rhys pulls, two bodies hitting the mattress in near unison, a tangle of limbs, choppy breaths mingling and hungry lips meeting. Despite the urgency, they start slow, with sloppy, chaste kisses and a simple embrace, Jack on his back with Rhys' arms wrapped around him, the other man, laying heavily on top of him and making little pleased hums in response to fingernails running through his styled hair. It's almost hesitant at first, a peck here or a nip there, as if they were testing the waters here, even though those particular waters are more than familiar, two sets of mismatched eyes disappearing behind closed eyelids.

Jack lightly tugs at his lower lip with his teeth and Rhys sucks in a deeper breath.

Rhys runs the tip of his nose along Jack's and Jack breaths out with satisfaction.

Perhaps he's making a mistake here, perhaps he shouldn't, but when Jack's hot breath ghosts over his skin and when he feels an even thud of a second heartbeat against his chest, Rhys finally relaxes, both of them willing to extend their limited trust just for a couple of those fleeting moments when the world narrows down to eager hands and open mouthed kisses. Outside, a world that's only waiting to tear anyone careless enough apart, lays in waiting, forcing them to stand back to back if they want to make it through but right here and now, they can turn around and curl into each other, over-bloated egos and posturing left on the other side of the door.

Warm lips feel good, so good against his, sometimes pressing hard enough that their movement forces Rhys' to move along with them, sometimes just gently brushing and leaving him itching for more. It's during one of those bruising kisses, that Jack's lips part, tongue inching deeper to meet Rhys' and coax him into something more intimate. The full body contact warms him not only from the outside but also from the inside, one of Jack's thighs slotted between his, the man underneath him arching up over the cybernetic arm under his back, and into him with every little grind. They breath together whenever they pull apart slightly, still relishing in the relative novelty of it, the unfamiliar surroundings and the thrill of doing it when everyone else is busy making good use of the money they have had to spent on tonight's show. 

These two rarely agree fully on anything but in this particular situation they are unanimous, sharing the slowly building up heat just as they share their contempt for the snobby upper class.

Rhys can feel a mirrored warmth growing between them whenever he rolls his hips, soft moans letting him know that it's more than just appreciated, and with Jack's hands pawing along the line of his waistband to try and worm their way under his shirt, he can't help his own murmurs of delight. It's good, because it's Jack but also it just -is- that kind of good, when two people know each other well enough to remember what makes the other tick, Rhys fiercely giving as much as he's taking, greedily drinking in gasps when his kisses and nips stray between the undone front of Jack's shirt to his collarbones, tie still clinging to his throat. The fabric however keeps getting in his way so eventually, he sits up, straddling the other man and dragging him up by the offending tie to work the layers of his clothing down over his arms. The new position gives him a way better access to the line of Jack's shoulders, the few scattered freckles earning a couple of bites and nuzzles, all the while his own clothes are being dealt with. Jack only stops when he arrives at the edges of already slightly crumpled slacks, fumbling with the belt, his breath ghosting over the exposed skin of Rhys' chest and the man seems to grow rather impatient, distracted by the more eagerly bouncing body on his lap. 

"Down kiddo, get off me and get on your back," that's a command Rhys doesn't hesitate before following, flopping down on the bed and deciding to deal with his pants himself. Jack seems to have something particular in mind, hopping to his feet to quickly get rid of whatever clothes still remained, although, he does leave his tie on per Rhys' request. Stalking around the bed, Jack finally climbs onto it at the head, telling the other to stay where he is when Rhys makes a move to join him, before shuffling lower until they are once again laying next to one another, facing in opposite directions this time. Oh, so that's what he had in mind, Rhys certainly isn't opposed to the idea, twisting his upper body so he can get more intimately acquainted with Jack's lower regions. Not that it's an uncharted territory in any way, but the different angle adds a bit more spice to re-mapping the landscape he knows so well. A surprised huff escapes him when the other man, as opposed to him, wastes no time in getting to work, damp warmth swallowing him and strong hands kneading at the flesh. It's hard to keep his thoughts straight and mouth on point once Jack gets down to it in earnest, blood rushing south and filling the swelling flesh, but Rhys doesn't let it deter from the task at hand, picking up on the competitive smirk shot his way. That's a race all right, his own lips moving to nip at the lines leading to Jack's groin, teasing for now and hell, he's going to take his sweet time and count it as his victory. Not that Jack particularly agrees with him, impatient as always, hooking one leg around Rhys' head to drag him closer. He ends up with a dick mashed in his face, more amused than annoyed, and still fighting back, squirming until he can mouth along the curve of the other's balls, suckling at the loose skin. Jack's not ticklish for the most part but for here, a twitch running up his body when a curious tongue flicks a couple of times just to get on his nerves.

It's enough to have the man pull back with a loud pop, leaning on one forearm and squinting his mismatched eyes, "get to it pumpkin, I ain't got a whole frickin' day for your antics!"

" 'en le' go of 'm head," mumbled, because his face is effectively squeezed between Jack's thighs. Those are nice thighs but Rhys still thinks he prefers to admire them from a safer distance. 

"Dickhead!" Jack follows his statement with a mean bite to Rhys' hip, clearly delighted with the yelp he gets in return. That's enough to rile him up, finally released from the headlock he was kept in, and eagerly parting his lips to let the heavy weight slip in. "Oh yeah, that's right pumpkin," he likes being called 'pumpkin' way better than any other offensive nickname Jack can come up, the groans he's earning for his ministrations rewarding as they are. 

As much as Rhys enjoys being on the receiving end of this arrangement, he has always taken great pleasure in offering it as well, thrilled with how it never failed to make Jack fall apart, and taking pride in his skill. Although, knowing the egocentric man, he would probably argue that he has nothing on Jack, most likely followed with fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of Rhys' neck to bring him closer, and panted around the gasps forced out of him. 

Regardless, he revels in the fullness in his mouth, the way it sits heavily on his tongue, surprisingly soft skin pleasant in its texture, the different angle making the now fully hard length easily slide down the bow of the back of his mouth and to his throat. When he's left to his own devices, dictating the pace and depth, it's comfortable, hardly ever prompting his gag reflex to flare, something he knows how to work around.

A stronger suck followed with a swallow is nothing more but a sneak attack, making Jack press his face between the other's legs, a shaky moan exhaled against spit-slicked sensitive skin reverberating up Rhys' spine and prompting a hum of his own, the shiver of his muscles around the hard length in his throat now trembling from the point of contact down Jack's body. It's like a closed loop of mirrored and amplified reactions, bouncing back and forth between the two men, one of them trying his hardest to render the other boneless with the delivered pleasure, only to pay for that when the response comes around. 

Rhys' thoughts scatter again when a tight grip starts stroking him, hot dampness now paying extra attention to the very tip of his cock, clever tongue teasing at the slit and lapping at the few drops he can feel leaking out of him. He's not however going to be bested on his own turf, arm looping around Jack's thigh to reach between them, once more reaching for the ticklish spot, his touch now far more focused and lips working in a tight ring.

Neither of them can stop the involuntary rolls of their hips, seeking more intense sensations all the while distracted both by what they are feeling and how they are making the other feel. With his attention constantly wavering but still dead set on winning this round, Rhys resorts to playing dirty as he usually does, easing up on the fondling in favour of sliding his fingers lower, a little bit above Jack's opening. He presses his fingertips harder, massaging up, to where he can feel the base of the other's dick disappear into his body, and down to a more pliant patch of flesh. That's enough to make Jack drop his head, cheek now resting over a straining thigh, his fist working almost absently, although he has enough forethought to twist his grip on every upward stroke. His mussed hair tickles, only adding to the building up sensations, along the spreading heat bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh shit, cupcake," he groans and Rhys smirks around the hard flesh in his mouth. The victory is almost his, or that's what he thinks until Jack gathers his wits and buries his face into his groin, back to eagerly sucking him off with little care for the mess he's making. While Rhys mostly relies on subtle tricks and a skillful tongue, Jack prefers raw speed and enthusiasm alone, hardly bothering to go for any other possibly erogenous zone when he's in the thick of it, a single minded focus that's so prominent in every other area of his life. Not that Rhys is complaining, usually left deeply satisfied if a bit sore by the end of it. Now however, the chafing pulses in hot waves through his body, eyes rolling back whenever it's just -so-, and muscles winding tighter in anticipation of the oncoming release. That's the tricky part of this arrangement, he's so caught up in trying to get the other man off, and with pleasure swirling about in his mind, he hardly has any strength left to control his own body and stave his orgasm off. For better or worse however, his spine does that for him.

He can almost see the blinding white burst behind closed eyelids, body burning with need, and attention so deeply preoccupied with the girth effectively keeping him gagged, that a hand sliding between them to grip at the back of his head catches him by a surprise. Not one to let an opportunity to retaliate pass, he sneaks his free hand up the length of Jack's body until he can feel the tail end of his tie, and gives a strong yank. All that tugging and gripping, has them curling their bodies inwardly, clinging to one another for dear life and tethering at the edges of tipping over . Rhys' mind is reeling, torn between chasing his own release and focusing on what he's doing, muscles beginning to cramp completely disregarded. That is, until a particularly nasty stab of pain shoots up his backbone. He yelps, springing away from the other man.

Rhys' not exactly willing to admit that it might be years of sitting hunched over this project or another catching up to him, but there's no denying that he's now rolling on his back, with one hand pressed over the small of his back and a long groan spilling from his lips. And not the sexy kind of groan. Two surprised, green and blue eyes scale him before Jack breaks into a fit of laughter, a rather insensitive thing to be doing right now in Rhys' opinion. It's not that it was that bad, it's just that it hasn't been expected at all, not serving to put out the burning fire in his guts at all.

"Oooh fucking hell, pumpkin! Way to kill the mood!" Although, a quick, if rather grumpy, look spared Jack's way, confirms that the mood hasn't been killed completely yet. "Can't do anything fun together without you injuring your old man's body."

"I'm -fine-, thank you for your concern," he's understandably snarky, the sudden pain almost completely gone, a memory of it making itself present only when he shifts his back the wrong way.

Jack sits up, wiping the non existent tears from the corners of his eyes, eventually nudging the other man with his foot in his own skewed version of checking if he's alright, "go lay down on the floor, let everything pop back into place kitten."

A part of him wants to trust Jack on this advice, a hard surface sounding particularly nice and the man probably has some experience based on the memories from his previous body, but another, larger part of him, is just too stubborn to listen to the other.

"I'm good, no need to worry," Jack's quick to protest, saying that he's not worried about him but rather worried about not getting off. Typical. Rhys rolls his eyes and then rolls them about the suite, his gaze landing on a grand piano, most likely here only to add to the splendor of the place. He's quite sure the other man won't have anything against defiling it, "but you surely can help me stretch a bit," with a devious smirk, he's already -not- limping towards the instrument.

"Oh? What'cha have in mind pumpkin?"

He hops onto it, beckoning the other closer with a crook of his finger, "come on, I'll show you." Only once Jack gets closer, does he lay down on it, a satisfied sigh escaping him when he indeed can feel his vertebrae pop into their rightful place, and cramped muscles ease with the stretch of his body. The piano is just the right height, going to about hip level, he scoots on his back until his head can hang over the edge upside down. Jack easily gets the idea, eagerly stepping within his reach. 

With two fingers wrapped around the base of Jack's length, he guides it back to his mouth, the grip he has on him stopping the other man from diving too deep and the pinch to his ass makes him snap his hips forward. Rhys is a big boy, he knows how to handle himself and throughout the years they have known one another and the years they have slept together, Jack has learned to trust his partner not to hurt either of them when going rough. That trust goes both ways and is enough to have Jack let completely loose, fucking into the willingly offered  mouth at his own, hasty pace. 

"Oh shit baby, you are fucking wicked," is that a praise? Well Rhys is definitely going to take it as such, arching his body under the appreciative gaze he knows must be roaming over him, cybernetic hand letting go of the other's backside to slip over his front and put on a bit of a show.

With his flesh hand making sure Jack isn't going to completely wreck his throat, he's left with his other hand teasing his own hard length, mindful of the sharp edges around the joints but still finding pleasure in the smooth metal pads gliding over sensitive skin. Rhys lets his mouth fall completely slack, surrendering to the assault of thrusts, feeling light headed and partly deaf from the blood rushing in his ears. Jack doesn't cut him any slack, not that he wants him to, fingernails raking over his heaving chest before the touch drifts to his neck and throat. The other man seems to be fascinated by the shape outlined under the skin, fingers trailing and pressing harder whenever he's buried to the hilt. The touch is far from gentle, warm and suffocating and Rhys is loving every second of it. It forces a few errant tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, lost amidst the strings of spit and precome running down his face. Although he genuinely hates being messy, he can't bring himself to give two shits about it right now, too lost in mind numbing pleasure, and knowing damn well how much Jack enjoys ruining him. He knows that from his previous experience but also from all the words freely slipping the other man, praise and promises mixing together into one long babbled stream only serving to spur him on and try harder.

The hands at his throat tighten, the previously easy and effortless slide of Jack's cock now more strained, pushing into the tightness and cutting off Rhys' oxygen not only by blocking the air passage but also by pressing from the outside. Not like he would even notice, used and abused in just the right way, thumbing at his own leaking tip, the touch just verging on not enough and making him forget to breath. He's almost, almost there, already having licked the edges of his release once today, now he's just chasing it almost desperately, darkness beginning to creep along the outskirts of his consciousness. That's when Jack decides to pull back, his holographic self probably alerting him of a spike in Rhys' vitals, and by god, Rhys hates him so much in this moment, obediently sucking in a deep breath that tingles deep in his lungs when a command to do so comes. Apparently it's enough to satisfy the other man and he's responding to the disappointed whine coming from Rhys, sliding all the way back in, no longer stopped by the hand wrapped around the base of his dick, said hand now opting for tugging him closer and this time it's enough to have his body pulling like a bowstring, arching off the grand piano. His feet slide uselessly over the polished wood, hardly finding any purchase as he tries to get some more stimulation, torn between craving it desperately and the lingering fear of accidentally hurting himself. Technically he could let Jack go and add his flesh hand to the mix but technicalities are currently far from his scattered mind, the only persistent thought demanding that he keeps the other as close as possible.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck, just a little bit more baby, that's right, right there, you feel so fucking good like that," he'd maybe laugh at that, the words far from coherent but he's too busy getting lost in the mixed sensations, the raw burn at the back of his throat drowning out whatever thoughts remained. It's not about surrendering control, but rather, both of them losing it simultaneously, selfishly taking what they want and need. Rarely did they manage to synchronize their respective releases but this time it happens, Rhys coming in spurts, barely touched and mostly getting off to the sound of Jack's voice, with the thrum of his heart pounding in his ears, being used by the man in question, and his own sparse touches. Jack on the other hand, drives himself in as far as he can and stills, hands gripping the back of Rhys' head in order to keep him close, curling forward far enough that the strands of hair which have escaped from his carefully styled mess brush over the other's chest.

On the upside, Rhys thinks hazily, there is no aftertaste left on his tongue, all of what Jack gives him instantly swallowed. He draws in short, clipped breaths through his nose, switching to deeper inhales once his throat is freed when Jack stumbles back and lands flat on his ass with a resounding plop. 

"You're wild kitten," he sits leaning back, propped on his hands resting behind his back and blindly staring at the ceiling. Rhys clears his throat, once, twice, and eventually sends a smug, if still upside down, smirk Jack's way.

"Sure am," his voice is rough and scratched, "'m gonna call the staff to come and iron our clothes." Which is clearly needed given that they have rolled all over the discarded shirts. Finally hopping down, he shuffles closer to the other man on still somewhat unsteady legs, and gallantly offers his arm, "ready handsome? I think that god awful diva is done with her yowling, time for the candle lit dinner I'm hoping you've got in store for me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter to wrap this up i promise, ahoy we've got some good old fashioned gore on the horizon


End file.
